by Amy Alves

Created on: May 31, 2010

River of love:

My love is not a poem written on the sand for the waters to wash come high tide

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My love is not one written on paper to fade with time

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My love is not a symphony to be filled in the air and die in a last note

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My love is not one etched in stone to be lost at the bottom of the sea to be concealed a secret forever all of time and forever

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My love is not one to be echoed through the mountaintops for love this pure cannot be duplicated

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This Love is not one to write on board and chalk to be wiped away in a cloud of powder as the black meets the green

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My love is not to be lit up from the tallest tower for even energy cannot last as long as my love

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My love may only be found in the darkest caverns of my heart covered in gems of memory and desire

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This love is sung into every diamond and ruby that covers the cavern in which all the jewels seem but as plastic compares to the bright pulse of my love burning through the soul of all who enter thios holy place.

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This place where children run and flowers grow.

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Where a million memories forgotten are revisited and rise to the top of the stone.

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Memories of these sweet first kisses and of unquenchable desires of youth, stored in a place so accessible yet none may ever find.

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It's in these very caverns your very image hides itself from the world, sinking to the bottom of the sweet smelling silver river floating to the unseeable end of this holy place.

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Framed in gold for joy and black for sorrow your picture remains a fixed object.

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a unremovable object of my love.

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The love that i find my words as useless as a limp sword in its presence, like a mighty lion pushing through the ivory gates of heaven itself to test your faith.

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To test if you are worthy of a love so great.

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Ah this sweet sweet love! what must i do to show? this wasn't a chapter

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nay a  simple poem this was a life! a book! a page forever unfilled til death does the ink find its thirst.

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The thirst that compells it to move and act

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Oh pityful love! like dry rain during drought like empty fullness of a stomach during famine!

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This love cannot be described in words alone.

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How can something be so violent, so dreadful?

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yet also be so peaceful so pleasant?

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how can the sun rise in the west and set in the east and converse with the mighty moon on it's crossing path?

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Oh sweet sweet love how i am afraid

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the shame in having been this way, drowning in that silver river of my heart's caverns trying to gasp for air holding onto each bare second.

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precious with each increasing one itself.

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Oh beautiful love do not drown. flourish! flower! bring smiles and laughter!

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bring opon romance and sweet nighttime walks!

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oh love love love. cruel hating love.

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why must your passions burn me like the flares of the sun burning over my head?

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Why must my love turn away in a cold calus whisper and dissapear into that lonely long alley lined with the hate of all men.

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Why must my love be love?

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i tell you now, we choose not our love. Our love chooses us.

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Our love is but a predetermined twine of string rolling into a destiny.

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Love is but a purpose.

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a reason to keep on.

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Love is nothing but a propaganda.

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For love as defined is not love as is.

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Love as is is the terror of all mankind.

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Love is war and hate.

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Love is the inner voice telling you it will be alright as it sets flame to fire and consumes you.

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Love.

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Love is nothing but lifes branch of support.

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A leaning stick.

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Love is the remains of the truth in a lost generation.

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